Mistletoe
by Oilux
Summary: Maybe this year, something interesting might happen at Alfred's Christmas party.


Happy Holidays! Have some Franada on me.

* * *

He sighed into the cool night air, gently blowing on his hands as he walked along the sidewalk. Everyone right now was already inside, spending time with families and friends. Francis himself was heading to a party that all of his friends had put together, but he was running a bit late, and deciding to walk there instead of calling a cab or going in the carpool was beginning to go against him.

Francis shoved his hands inside of his pockets, hoping to retain what little warmth the digits had in them. It helped a little, but the cold December air was quickly sucking what little warmth that he had left wrapped inside his body. Good thing he was only about a block from the party being held at Alfred's house.

The rest of the walk somehow didn't managed to suck out the little warmth that Francis had left, and he pounded on the door with a fist. Normally, he was gentle with his knocks, and he would only tap the door once before ringing the doorbell twice. Yet he could hear the Christmas music that Alfred played constantly this time of year blaring from the other side of the door. Someone opened the door for him and Francis walked in, stomping his feet gently before hanging up his coat.

"About time you got here dude!" Alfred yelled, clasping Francis on the shoulder. Francis flinched at the powerful blow, but didn't let Alfred see it.

"Was I missed that much?" he responded easily. Alfred paused in thought for a moment and Francis felt hope burn through his heart. Maybe this year someone had actually said something and missed him, even enough to ask Alfred if he was here yet.

"Nah, I mean Arthur was having a 'jolly'," Alfred's air quotes were even more exaggerated than when normal people did it, "time but he always says that when you're gone."

Francis felt his hope die in his hear as quickly as it had burned him. He said a couple more things to Alfred before he went on his own, hopefully to find something to drink and a couple people who would talk to him for more than five minutes. Everyone was either dancing, drinking, making out, or sneaking off to one of Alfred's many bedrooms. He never understood how Alfred didn't see people disappear, they weren't exactly quite about it.

Antonio and Lovino were already gone, but Gilbert told them that they had been having all sorts of 'fun' before Francis was there at all. Arthur was actually smiling, sitting on the couch with a huge mug of beer that Francis knew Alfred got for him. Those two would be busy as well. Francis didn't really pay all that much attention to other people in the room, none of them doing anything really interesting as to catch his interest.

After Gilbert ran off to who knows where to do his 'awesome' deeds, Francis went to the kitchen to find a drink. On his way there, he gently fingered the mistletoe that was hidden in his pants pocket. Every year, every single Christmas party that he went to he would bring it, even though there was more than likely to be some already there. At first, people had blushed and given him a kiss on the cheek, or even a full out kiss on the lips. It had all been in good fun, and Francis loved how his friends would blush and make people laugh.

Then one year, the laughs and blushes had stopped. He wasn't met with the grinning face that he expected to see, not even a look of disgust that he had been met with on an occasion or two. There was just anger, displeasure, and a tiny bit of pity. Francis left that situation without a kiss. He had tried a couple times in the next couple years, but every time he was met with the same result, no matter whom the person was. Francis didn't know what had changed over the years, but he was met with more displeasure every year, even if he didn't try his mistletoe trick. The more that he thought about it in his short trip to the kitchen, the more Francis realized that they only people who still talked to him were Gilbert, Antonio, and Alfred. Arthur would occasionally yell at him, but that hardly counted as an actual conversation.

Francis easily pulled one of the many beers out of the fridge. It tasted horrible, and his taste buds screamed as he drank the entire bottle in one go. It was amazing that Gilbert had even drank just a little bit of it. As he waited in the kitchen for something, anything to happen really, he pulled out another bottle of beer and began to drink that one as well. There was a clang behind him, and Francis whipped around, wondering who he could have possibly overlooked.

It was someone, with hair like him. He was quiet, and didn't even seem to notice that Francis was right there not about five feet away from him, watching his every move. He somehow managed to wear a sweater, even though it was warm and toasty inside the kitchen. He was up to his elbows in water and soap in the sink, washing dishes, never seeming to make a dent in the pile of dirty dishes that were there. This man, standing there and doing dishes that probably weren't even his own, was very handsome, Francis noted. He looked so familiar, but Francis couldn't ever remember meeting him before.

What could he do other than go up right behind him and hug him? Well, in hindsight he could have just went up next to him and observed quietly and said something, but right then his idea seemed so much better. Whoever this cutie was though, Francis noted that he smelled sweet.

"Wha-" the man exclaimed, jumping and tensing in Francis' arms. Francis loosened his grip a little, giving the man enough room to turn around and face him. Francis met the gaze of the other with his own smiling grin, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes?" he asked, simply because the man in his arms was sputtering and beet red and frankly adorable, but it didn't seem like he was going to be able to speak anytime soon.

"Who are you?" he finally got out. Ah, so Francis had been right they had never met before.

"Francis Bonnefoy," he answered smoothly. The man sputtered and pushed him away easily, making Francis drop his arms. He faked a hurt look, but he expected a response like that.

"Well Mister Francis Bonnefoy you can go over and leave me alone, I have dishes to wash."

And with that Francis was left all alone and this strange, handsome, man was back to washing dishes. The only trace that Francis had done something was a faint blush that decorated the other man's cheeks.

"What's your name, cher?" he asked smoothly. For a moment, his strange new friend didn't respond, and Francis thought that he would have to ask him all over again. But then there was a loud sigh, and Francis got his answer.

"Matthew, Matthew Williams. Can you leave me alone now?" He didn't even look up from the soap he lathered in his hands while he said it. Francis just grinned, already he was having more fun that he thought he would here.

"Non," he simply said. Matthew groaned, but it was quiet, he was obviously trying to make sure that Francis didn't hear it. Of course, Francis heard him anyways.

"Is my company so bad?" he teased. He partly expected to be either met with silence or another witty remark. Instead Matthew blushed and didn't raise his eyes from the dishes that he was busying himself with.

"Well- no, that's not what I meant. You just scared me that's all!" Matthew finally stuttered out. Francis laughed at the poor boy, getting so riled up over nothing.

"Relax, cher, I mean no harm."

Strange, he was finally having fun at one of Alfred's Christmas party, something that hadn't happened since he was twenty two. For once he wasn't sitting there watching Lovino throw a hissy fit because Antonio got to drunk. For once he wasn't watching Gilbert hit on Elizabeta only to get thrown out and hit in the face with a frying pan. And for once, he wasn't watching Arthur get drunker and drunker until he finally dragged Alfred off to some place. It was nice, this change, something that no one else nowadays even offered him.

Their conversation gradually escalated, until they were talking like normal people should, both contributing to the conversation and both being entertained by each other. People still came in and out of the kitchen, but no one ever stayed long enough to really interrupt. That was mainly because every time someone would come in Francis and Matthew would stare at them awkwardly until they left and Francis and Matthew could return to their conversation normally.

"Why were you washing the dishes, cher?" Francis finally asked. Matthew blushed at the pet name, having since long told Francis that he spoke French as well. That didn't stop Francis though from calling him that. Once Matthew got over the fluster of someone calling him that, he seemed to panic a bit, hands fluttering like a bird.

"Oh, the dishes! Alfred will be so upset if I don't finish them!" Matthew rose from the place he had sat down next to Francis while they had talked. He went over and drained the water from the sink, running fresh clear water and putting a lot of soap in with the dishes.

"You're doing the dishes for Alfred?" Francis questioned. Matthew nodded, not taking his eyes away from the soaking dishes.

"Why?"

That made Matthew pause for a moment. Why was he doing Alfred's dishes? That boy could do them on his own, he didn't need Matthew to do them. Yet every time that Alfred had a party Matthew somehow ended up doing the dishes or cleaning the house or doing some kind of chore that Alfred was too hung over to do or too lazy to do.

"Well he wouldn't do them if I didn't…" Matthew finally got out. For a moment there was silence between the two, as silent as it could get with music still pouring through the walls, before Francis started laughing.

"You don't have to do that, cher. Come on, he can do them on his own when he wakes up tomorrow," Francis told Matthew as he took his hand and gently led the smaller boy away from the sink. Hastily Matthew shut off the water while he was still in reach, but otherwise didn't do anything else that would make Francis drop his hands.

"But…" Matthew weakly protested, just barely tugging at the hand that was holding his own.

"Alfred will be just fine. Come sit and talk with me," Francis spoke so smoothly. Matthew couldn't help but comply and sit down next to Francis.

The rest of the night was a mix of conversation and flirting (mainly from Francis' side of the conversation, not that Matthew minded that much). Yet soon enough, the music died down and the night was ending. Francis would have readily admitted that it ended too soon for him, but they had to pack up, even though there was no one else in the house that was even awake to complain about them being there.

As they walked out the front door together, Francis shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep them warm. His knuckles brushed against the mistletoe that had been stored there all night, with no use since he couldn't put it to any use. It was hot inside his pocket, having rested against his thigh all night, but as he wrapped his hand around it his mind created the greatest idea.

Luckily, and Francis thanked whatever deity was looking out for him that night, Matthew lived in the same direction that Francis lived. In fact, Francis lived closer than Matthew did, but Francis offered to walk the smaller male home, thinking that his plan would only work if he tried it on Matthew's front porch.

Matthew's house was a warm, cabin-looking home that seemed as if it was better suited for being in the middle of a forest rather than the suburbs where it was. Though with the blanket of snow that covered the roof and the front yard, Francis had to admit that it looked just like the kind of house that made you want to go inside and curl up by the fire with a cup of hot chocolate. He thought that it would be a bit too forward to invite himself inside though, so he held back.

"Thanks for walking me home Francis," Matthew said as he dug his keys out of his pocket. Francis smiled at the man standing in front of him.

"It was my pleasure cher, just answer one question?"

"Hm?" Matthew looked up from his keys up at Francis, his cheeks and tip of the nose tinted a bright red from the cold.

"Why do you have mistletoe above your door?" Francis asked with a sly grin. Matthew looked confused for a moment, before looking up and around his door.

"I don't have any mistletoe-" he stopped when he saw that mistletoe was indeed hanging above his doorway. He blushed bright red, because not only was he standing under the doorway that had mistletoe on it, but what was holding up the mistletoe was Francis' hand.

Francis was delighted. He hadn't gotten a reaction like that in years, and the cute blushing face of Matthew was too cute to overlook. He grinned down at Matthew, twisting the mistletoe between his fingers, making some of the leaves fall in between them. Matthew blushed brighter than he had the entire night.

"Merry Christmas cher," Francis whispered before he leaned down and captured Matthew's lips with his own. For a moment, Matthew paused, before he reacted with equal vigor, wrapping his arms around Francis' neck and their lips clashed with each other. Francis wound his arms around Matthew's waist, holding him close. Yet before they could do anything more, they had to break for air, their breathes appearing before them.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" Francis boldly asked. He was sure that he already knew his answer, but nervousness still managed to flutter across his stomach. Then, Matthew laughed and grinned, looking as happy as Francis felt right now.

"Yes!"

"Tomorrow?"

"At seven."

"It's a date."

Francis and Matthew untangled themselves from each other, Matthew removing his arms before Francis removed his hands from Matthew's waist. Francis watched Matthew go inside, with quiet talks of goodbye and promises of seeing each other tomorrow. Francis was halfway down the street when he realized that the mistletoe was still clutched in his palm. He laughed into the night air, thinking that this was the best Christmas party he had been to in years.


End file.
